by Linda Devlin
Sin pinned his eyes on her, hard, unflinching. "Honey, you're great in bed, and in the tub, but no woman tells me what to do with my life. Not even you."
Now she was offended. "I'm not just some woman," she snapped. "I'm your wife. If you're going to ride off for goodness knows how long and place yourself in danger, don't you think I should have some say in the matter?"
"No," he said softly.
No? All of a sudden she could feel everything, the sun on her face, the gentle wind, the hard ground beneath her feet. She could see everything with a clarity that only came with a rush of fury. After everything that had happened, he was going to leave her here, again and again, and purposely place himself in dangerous situations. He had no regard for her feelings. Her love meant nothing to him.
"You are so... so uncivilized," she whispered.
His face hardened, and his eyes darkened. His hands folded into fists at his sides. "Yes," he said, "I am. It's in my blood, remember?"
Her heart fell as her anger melted a little and she realized what she'd said. "I didn't mean..."
"Inside," he said stalking past her and throwing back the door that opened on to the lobby. "I've had enough gardening for one day. Besides," he said quietly as she passed, "you can make all the plans you want. You can whisper all the honeyed words you want to in the dark. You can tell yourself, and me, that what you feel is love, if it makes you feel better about what we do." He turned to face her and leaned slightly closer, pinning his cold eyes on hers. "But we both know you won't be here in the spring. Rock Creek and the people in it are much too uncivilized for you."
Sin spun around and stalked away from her. Rico sat on the green sofa, diligently sharpening his knife, and Sin passed without so much as glancing down. "She's all yours," he said as he walked through the doors and across the street to the saloon.
Chapter 18
Sullivan sat in a hardback chair and leaned against the wall. Cash was in a similar position beside him.
"I shoulda seen it," he muttered, shaking his head. "Since the day I met Eden, she's been talking about how she can handle her brother. Now she thinks she can handle me."
"A lesser man would say I told you so."
"Thanks for not stooping so low." He didn't know what had made him more angry, the fact that Eden suddenly thought she had the right to tell him how to live his life, or that word that had fallen so easily from her mouth as she'd looked at him—uncivilized. All his life he'd been branded with the blood of his father. Heathen. Renegade. Uncivilized.
"But I did warn you," Cash added, unable to take the high road. "Women like that, they turn your insides upside down and twist your mind around until you can't think straight, and then they look at you with wide-eyed innocence as if nothing happened."
"That's Eden," Sullivan muttered. He cast a sideways glance at Cash. "How do you know so much about women like her? You saw from the beginning that there would be trouble. No one else did."
Cash took a long draw on his cigar and blew the smoke out slowly, almost thoughtfully. "I knew a girl just like her once, a long time ago. Damn it Sullivan. I tried to let you benefit from my misfortune, but you had to find out the hard way. You had to discover for yourself that women like Eden Rourke are more dangerous than any soldier or brigand you'll ever face."
He wanted to ask about this woman from the past, the woman who had soured the gunslinger against nice girls, but he knew Cash wouldn't share any details. Sullivan's heart sank. He didn't want to be as cynical as Cash. He didn't want to push Eden to the back of his mind, a bad memory and nothing else, just so he could bear to survive without her.
But what else was he supposed to do? She wanted to change him, to turn his life upside down. The way she'd said no, when he'd told her he would continue to travel... It was as if she simply expected him to obey, as if no one had ever told her no before.
She wanted safety and security, a peaceful life. She wasn't going to find it in Rock Creek.
"When this is over, when the Merriweather brothers are captured, she has to go home."
"Amen." Cash raised his glass in salute. "Of course, you don't actually send a woman like Eden home. You and Jed were right about that from the beginning. She has to want to go."
"She won't go if she thinks there's any chance... if she thinks we'll ever..."
"So make sure she knows there's nothing left," Cash snapped. "Women like her, they're hopelessly romantic. Give her a nasty dose of reality, and in a matter of days she'll be begging to return to Georgia."
"A nasty dose of reality?"
"Don't clean yourself up for her. Don't try to make everything pretty and nice." Cash waved a dismissive hand. "Put her in her place, once and for all."
* * *
Eden was still angry as she served lunch. How could Sin possibly think he could continue to travel and chase outlaws and fight one battle after another? The very idea was inconceivable to her. Husbands stayed home. Fathers didn't just ride off whenever the mood struck them.
She sniffled as she slopped a pile of potatoes onto a plate, next to a piece of braised chicken. And besides, she didn't want to be left here alone!
As she and Ethel were serving lunch, Sin came in and sat at a table by the window. He barely glanced her way as he crossed the room and took his seat. Just looking at him made her angry all over again. How could you love someone so much one minute and then in a heartbeat become so furious with them that you shook all over?
She had Ethel serve Sin his lunch, not wanting to approach him until she'd calmed down a little. He was not an unreasonable man, she decided. He was just resistant to change, stubborn. Eventually she'd be able to convince him that she was right.
Jedidiah shuffled into the dining room, rubbing his head as he sat at the table nearest to the door. Since he refused to shave on a regular basis, he always looked a little rough. There was a handsome face beneath that pale stubble; he just wasn't interested in showing it to its best advantage. Too bad. He should be married and have a couple of kids by now.
"Do you feel better?" she asked as she placed his lunch before him.
"Yeah." He looked up at her and grinned. "Thanks for the medicine. It did the trick."
"I made custard pie for dessert." She sat beside him and pulled her chair closer to the table.
His grin got wider. "You're a jewel."
"Jedidiah," she said, leaning closer as he began to eat, "why did you never get married?" She held her breath. He and Sin were alike in many ways; they wandered; they defied convention.
"What woman would have me?" he asked with a wink.
She wasn't going to be put off so easily. "I don't believe for a minute that there aren't lots of women out there who wouldn't love to have you for a husband. You're handsome and smart and funny...."
"And you're my baby sister, so you're a little prejudiced about my better qualities."
She couldn't let him make light of this conversation! How would she ever get a helpful answer if he continued to tease? "Why don't you want to be married?"
His smile faded. "This isn't about me at all, is it?"
"Well, just a little," she said softly.
Jedidiah's sharp gaze crossed the room and landed on Sin. Sin ate his lunch and pretended he was all alone, in this room and in the world. "I don't want to be tied down. The idea of living the rest of my life in one place, with one woman, scares the hell out of me."
"But the right woman..."
"Doesn't exist," Jedidiah interrupted. "Not for someone like me. I might enjoy being married, for a while, but eventually I'd get itchy feet and want to move on. That's not fair to a good woman."
She knew he was no longer talking about himself. "But what about love?"
Jedidiah shook his head and dug into his lunch. "Like the concept of the right woman, it isn't real. It's just... attraction between a man and a woman prettied up a bit."
Eden's lower lip trembled. She wanted love more than anything. More than that, she needed it.
For once, she didn't argue with him about returning to Georgia. For once, she considered that maybe he was right. "I really don't belong here," she whispered. "I've been such an idiot."
"No." Jedidiah shook his fork at her. "You are not an idiot. You just didn't know what you were getting into when you headed for Rock Creek."
"Sometimes I only see what I want to see."
"Sugar, that doesn't work out here," Jedidiah said kindly. "You've got to keep your eyes open at all times, else you'll run smack dab into a scorpion or a rattlesnake and that's your ass."
Eden glanced toward Sin, who had quickly finished his lunch and headed for the lobby with long, impatient strides. "A rattlesnake," she muttered.
When she looked at Jedidiah again, he had a wide, satisfied grin on his face.
* * *
From the hotel lobby, Sullivan watched Eden saunter down the stairs. She had adapted, in many ways, to her new environment. Her hair was loosely piled on her head, the style not so severe as it had been when he'd first met her. Her blouse was loose and cool, her skirt a bright blue, color in an otherwise colorless landscape. She carried a large basket of dirty clothes.
In the two days since their argument in the garden, they hadn't spoken a single word to each other. When it was his watch, he quietly kept an eye on her. When it wasn't his watch, he stayed across the street or in his room.
She was still irate, but on occasion he caught a glimpse of unbridled softness in her eyes. Softness and hope. If he was going to scare her off, if Eden was going to break down and ask to go home to Georgia, the last bit of that hope had to go.
"I need to go to the river," she said crisply.
"That's not a good idea."
"The well is low, and I have laundry to do."
"Let Ethel do the laundry," Sullivan seethed.
"This is a personal chore, not hotel laundry," Eden snapped. "I will do my own laundry. If you don't want to go with me, fine. Stay here." She spun around and stalked toward the back door.
Sullivan cursed as he followed her. She knew damn well he couldn't let her go alone.
"Watch your language, Mr. Sullivan," she said. "This is a family hotel."
He opened the back door and Eden stepped through without looking at him. He almost offered to take the basket from her as they walked through what had once been a garden, but he thought better of it and kept his hands and his offers of help to himself as they headed toward the river.
The walk was long, but not arduous. On a pleasant autumn day it was nice to be outdoors, he had to admit. He'd been spending too much time indoors lately, in the hotel and the saloon. Something inside him wanted to be on the trail again, but he couldn't leave until this business with Eden was taken care of.
She walked ahead of him, her hips swinging beneath that blue skirt, strands of pale hair escaping the bun and falling to her shoulders and beyond. He wanted her still, damn it. He wanted her as much as he ever had. Maybe more.
The land was greener by the river than it was in town. A few tall oak trees shaded much of the bank, and the grass here was thick and soft. Wildflowers grew in abundance along the bank.
"I should bring Millie here one afternoon," Eden said as she set her basket on the ground. "She'd love these flowers."
"Yes, she would." He had a vivid memory of Eden with an orange flower in her hair, smiling at him. He fought to push that memory back. It was too pleasant. Too tempting.
Eden carried her basket closer to the river, over by a grouping of rocks, and kneeled by the flowing water. She went about her chore without another word, scrubbing at spots with vigor, washing and rinsing and wringing with all her might. He had a feeling she was taking her rage out on the linen and calico that passed through her hands.
He'd never imagined that a woman doing laundry in the river could be seductive, but with the sun on her pale hair and the gentle way she leaned toward the water, Eden was a tempting sight. Powerfully tempting. If he didn't care about her at all, he'd tell her he loved her, take what he could get, and ride out of town when the time came—when he got tired of her, when she got sick of him, when the road called to him stronger than she did.
But he did care about her. He didn't want to make her think they had something that would never work and then leave her. It wasn't fair.
Fair? When had he ever cared about what was fair? Hell, he was even beginning to think like her!
He leaned against a tree and watched while she wrung out the last of her laundry and put it in the basket. When she turned to face him his heart sank. There it was again, that soft, hopeful, yearning expression that said too much.
She went to lift the basket and grunted. The wet clothes were much heavier than the dry ones had been.
"I'll carry it," he said, stepping into the sunlight and heading for the bank, trying like hell to ignore the expression on Eden's face. Maybe he shouldn't ignore it. What had Cash said? A good dose of reality.
Instead of reaching down to pick up the basket, he grabbed Eden, pulled her tight against him, and kissed her. Hard. There was no tenderness in the kiss, just want, and need, and demand. He grabbed her hair and tilted her head back to allow greater access to her mouth. He got lost in her smell and her taste. He couldn't kiss her deeply enough.
He held her tight so she could feel his erection, so she'd know what she'd done. When she started to respond—softening against him, kissing him back—he pulled away, breaking the contact with a sudden fierceness that left him light-headed.
"You don't look at a man like that unless you're willing to spread your legs for him."
Her eyes went wide, and her face lost its color.
A good dose of reality. "You think that just because I don't love you, that just because I won't be your goddamned bellman, that I don't want you? Sex," he whispered, "and what you want, have nothing to do with each other. Men and women have sex every day, without love, without promises. That's what we have."
She swallowed hard. "I don't believe you."
He scooped the basket from the ground and turned from her. "Of course you don't," he snapped."If it's not what Eden fancies, it must not be." He glanced over his shoulder to see that she followed. "Sorry, honey, but everything in this world doesn't fit into your orderly little plan. Sometimes a stray turns mean."
She increased her step. "That stray business again!" she snapped as she climbed the hill behind him. "I swear, Sin, you are the most impossible man...."
He heard the shot just as the tree trunk not two feet from Eden's head exploded. His heart nearly stopped as he dropped the laundry basket and lunged to knock Eden to the ground and cover her body with his.
***
She couldn't breathe! She couldn't see anything, either, until Sin slithered to the side, dragging her with him, shielding her body with his own as he pulled her behind the tree and drew his gun.
"Someone shot at us," she whispered breathlessly.
"Honey, someone shot at you," he muttered as he peered around the tree to scan the horizon.
Holding her breath, she waited for another shot to be fired, for whoever had been tormenting her to come charging over the hill. Was it the person who'd written the notes? Curtis Merriweather? Someone else she'd annoyed since arriving in Rock Creek?
Sin crouched down beside her. "I didn't see anything," he said softly. "Whoever it was might've fired once just to scare you and then run off."
"Might've?" she whispered.
He looked her in the eye. "There are lots of places to hide out there. A boulder, a few hills, another tree."
She tried to melt into Sin, feeling safer with every shift that moved her closer to him. "So, what do we do?"
"We wait," he said grudgingly. "I would try to m
ove forward and check those hiding places, but that would mean leaving you unprotected and I can't do that." He sounded almost as if this were her fault! "I don't suppose you're carrying that derringer with you today."
Eden shook her head in response. Since their violent run-in with the Merriweathers, she hadn't had any desire to arm herself. She was sure she couldn't possibly fire at another human being, no matter who it might be.
"Until I moved West, no one had ever tried to shoot me. First the Merriweathers and now this." She sighed.
"Once you get back to Georgia it's likely no one will ever shoot at you again."
She glanced up into Sin's face. He wasn't looking at her. He kept his eyes peeled for the enemy, whoever that might be. Since his attention was elsewhere, she felt free to look her fill.
When she'd first seen him, he'd been such a mess! One eye swollen shut, cuts and bruises and knots marring the surface of his face. But he'd healed with no physical reminder of the beating but a small scar near his eye, the remnant of a cut that still might fade completely, with time.
The face she saw now was valiant, and handsome, and vital. Long hair was a symbol of his defiance. His narrowed eyes were suspicious, wary of everyone. High cheekbones and a strong jaw were gifts from his father, she supposed. Perhaps the hint of softness in his heart, the kindness he tried to hide, was what he carried of his mother.
"Sin?" she whispered.
He stiffened. "What?"
"I'm sorry for what I said the other day in the garden. I've been thinking about it...."
"Don't," he snapped. "You made it pretty clear what you wanted. So did I. There's no need to hash it out all over again."
"I shouldn't have called you uncivilized," she said. "I was angry and I didn't mean it."
He glared down at her. "Yes, you did, and you were right. You're a lady who wants a home and a family. I'm an uncivilized half-breed bastard...."
"Don't say that."
"It's the truth." He scanned the horizon again, effectively dismissing her.